


Truth

by yeaka



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Ficlet, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie should’ve known that Peggy was more than she seemed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know zero about Marvel or American history beyond this show; heads up. This is for jstakidfrombrooklyn’s “Angie finding out Peggy's secret about being an SSR agent” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Agent Carter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She makes the water stiflingly hot, but by the time she hears the telltale click-clack of stilettos in the other room, it’s more of a semi-hot to lukewarm.

The bathroom door cricks open, and Peggy’s head pokes inside, tilting through the crack to find Angie without having to actually step inside. They should be past this by now; they’ve seen each other naked so thoroughly that Angie could map Peggy’s body blindfolded. But dimming out her English lover’s sense of propriety is proving a difficult task. Angie dons as much of a smile as she can muster, but it’s nowhere near her usual glory. It feels stale and fake, and she doesn’t even bother to lift her head off the rim of the tub. Her hair’s pinned up—she just washed it yesterday, and her makeup’s all scrubbed off. Between that and her gloom, she must look a mess, but Peggy asks anyway, “May I come in?” 

Glancing idly across the tub, Angie sticks a foot out the other side, poking through the bubbles. “Yeah, I guess there’s room.”

Smiling coyly, Peggy says, “I mean the washroom.” But she ends up leaving the opposite way, the door clicking shut again behind her. Her footsteps dissipate into the rest of Angie’s apartment, probably to hang up her hat and jacket and slip out of those shoes. It gives Angie a moment to slip further into the protective shell of water and wonder what the heck she’s going to do. 

She should come out and _say_ it, she thinks, but then, she can’t think of any way to phrase it without it sounding like an accusation. And she _understands_ , sort of, she does, and Peggy’s always running hot and cold anyway—no sense scaring her off again. That’s not what Angie wants. She doesn’t like being left in the dark and knowing she now has to worry every single time Peggy’s out of her sight. Even now, she gets a small spike of panic—what if work followed Peggy home? But Peggy shows back up again like nothing’s wrong with the world, stepping softly through the door in bare feet with the stockings peeled off her legs. For a moment, Angie stares at the pale skin interspersed with little dark hairs of stubble—but of course, Peggy has better things to do than obsessively shave her legs like Angie does. And the courage to not give a damn when the world inevitably gets after her for it, too. Then again, there’s always pantyhose. 

Peggy starts to unbutton her blouse as she asks, “May I join you?” As though Angie would ever say no. 

Angie fought tooth and nail to have Peggy in her life, and she’d do it all again. But for once, she isn’t staring ravenously as Peggy reveals steadily more of her body. Angie looks back at the tub instead, blowing the little hills of fluffy white bubbles around. 

Peggy hesitates in slipping out of her bra, then asks, “What’s wrong?” Angie looks back, which was a mistake; she inevitably gets lost in the soft curves of Peggy’s breasts, falling heavy and natural without the heft of a restrictive bra. There’s a faint redness beneath them from a probably too-tight strap, but all women have battle-scars. Angie winces after thinking it—of course, Peggie probably has _real_ scars, emotional ones left from healed over physical ones, that Angie’s always just taken for natural discolouration. She should’ve seen all the signs. Peggy’s gotten so many bruises in their short time together—how did Angie not put it all together?

She looks at Peggy and wrinkles her nose, somehow just muttering, “Nothing.” It’s not really _wrong_. She was just foolish. She pulls her knees out of the water and draws her legs into herself, making room. Somehow her voice comes out too bitter when she mutters, “Just get in the tub, English.”

Peggy lifts one too-perfect eyebrow and finishes shimmying out of her skirt and panties—more mistreated curves. Her face says she knows she’s in trouble, but she comes to the edge of the bathtub anyway and lifts one foot over, finding purchase in the bottom. The water sloshes about as she climbs inside, rising with the new addition. As she settles inside, back to the wall, the water level reaches just below the rim and laps dangerously at the white sides. 

Angie, mad at herself, knows she still loves Peggy, will always love Peggy, no matter what, so she opens her arms and grumbles, “Come here, Peg.” She’s even more irritated at herself for doing this here—it should’ve been at the table over coffee and tea, so she wouldn’t have to look at Peggy’s beautiful body and grow weak in the knees. Somehow, she thought the water would soothe her, but it didn’t.

Peggy turns, and Angie helps, her hands clutching at Peggy’s strong biceps—so much _muscle_ : more signs—guiding her around. Angie’s legs part, knees flattened against the sides of the bath, and Peggy shuffles back between her open thighs. A bit of the water sloshes over the edge, but Angie has bigger problems. She pulls Peggy back against herself, Peggy’s broader shoulders and smooth back flatting against her chest, hair a dark tumble everywhere, the water-logged ends slicked against both their skin. Angie parts it and draws it over Peggy’s shoulders, while Peggy lets out a little sigh, relaxing back against her. 

In a way, she’s honoured that a woman like Peggy Carter, who must be so full of _stress_ , can relax with her. She’s glad she can help. She hesitates on how to start—ask about Peggy’s day and hear more lies? But at first all she can do is touch Peggy, reassure herself that it doesn’t _really_ matter if Peggy isn’t a telephone operator; she’s still the same woman Angie fell in love and she still fits too damn perfectly in Angie’s arms.

Angie wraps those arms around Peggy’s waist, hooks her chin over Peggy’s shoulder, leans her wet cheek against Peggy’s dry one and mumbles, “I did go to your apartment first, like usual. You got a call from ‘the office.’” Peggy stiffens against her, even before she says, “Which wasn’t the telephone company at all.”

Peggy sighs. Angie can feel it louder than hear it. Angie could say the rest—how she pretend she _was_ Peggy, just for fun, only to realize that the idiot on the other end apparently didn’t know Peggy’s voice at all—but she doesn’t need to. It’s obvious that she knows. Peggy lied to her about that job, and about every little thing since that involved an extra assignment. All those times Peggy made up excuses why she had to go, why Angie couldn’t stay, why the two of them couldn’t get close, those were probably all symptoms of this bigger problem, and if Peggy had just told her the truth, she would’ve understood. Instead of fretting and crying and burning over what she assumed was Peggy just not wanting her. 

But she still loves Peggy, so she stays draped over Peggy’s shoulder, clinging to Peggy’s naked body, even when Peggy tries to turn around. It takes a few seconds of wrestling for Angie to loosen her grip enough to give Peggy that room, and then Peggy twists enough to look at her. Peggy’s bright red lipstick is still smudge-free, her eyes dark-rimmed with liner. She looks gorgeous and sorry and says, “If you know as much as it sounds like, then you know it’s not something I was allowed to reveal. It’s top security. ...And even if I could’ve, I wouldn’t have told you, because that knowledge puts you in danger.”

“I still would’ve liked to _know_ ,” Angie mumbles. She sounds bitter and childish even to her own ears. Of _course_ government agencies can’t just go around revealing all their agents, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. Peggy frowns at her, and that makes Angie feel worse. She has to tell herself that it can’t be because Peggy doesn’t trust her. It’s bigger than that, than them. 

It helps when Peggy’s hand pops out of the water to stroke her cheek. She can’t resist Peggy touching her, and she smiles even though she doesn’t want to and nuzzles into Peggy’s palm, while Peggy kisses her other cheek, hard and tingling, enough to make her laugh. 

Alright, so she knows Peggy loves her. She opens her mouth to complain about the distraction, but Peggy’s lips press softly into hers, and she kisses back because she _loves_ Peggy, too. More than she’s ever loved anyone else in her life. She presses flat into Peggy, her breasts squishing against Peggy’s arm, and she almost pulls Peggy around, but Peggy pulls back too soon.

“My last roommate,” she starts, but she trails off. She closes her mouth, then gathers her hair over one shoulder, twisting and squeezing out the ends, like she just needs something to do with her hands. Angie thinks of washing it, but the water’s cooling off, and she’s not sure she wants to be in it that long. After a minute, Peggy licks her lips and retries: “My last roommate lost her life because of me. They were trying to get to me, and she was just... in the way.”

Peggy’s face has gone into agony so quickly, watery at the corners of her eyes, and all Angie can do is breath, “Shit, Peg. I... I’m sorry.”

Peggy shakes her head. “I... my job is dangerous.” Angie nods. Of course it would be. “I just didn’t want you involved. For your own protection.” Angie doesn’t know what to say, so she wraps her arms around Peggy’s shoulders again in a tight, warm hug. 

Peggy holds her back and sighs forlornly over her shoulder, “I suppose, in a way, it’s good that you know. Now you know how careful you must be around me. ...And obviously, you can’t ever tell anyone.”

This time it’s Angie’s turn to pull back and chuckle, “I can keep a secret, English.” She looks pointedly between them. They’ve already crossed enough lines together—what’s one more?

Although now Angie has to worry, too, just like how Peggy worries for her. Every time Peggy goes off to work, Angie’s going to just be a ball of nerves. 

Peggy asks, a tad sheepishly despite all her other bravery, “Do you still want to be with me?”

Without even bothering to answer, Angie shakes her head. “I should’ve known you were too cool to be a telephone operator.”

“Cool?” Peggy laughs. “Me?”

“You know what I mean.” This time when she leans in for a kiss, she does it too fast, and more water spills over the side. She doesn’t bother to stop, because she’s tangling her soaking fingers in Peggy’s soft hair, and Peggy’s turning to cling back to her, until they’re facing each other, Angie’s shoulders digging into the rim and Peggy half draped over her, threatening to drag her down into the water like some too-tempting mermaid. Every time Angie thinks they’re going to stop and talk again, they just keep kissing. Maybe it’s too much for Peggy to talk about. It doesn’t matter. Angie likes the feeling of Peggy’s eager tongue in her mouth too much to complain. 

Finally, Angie manages to mumble around kisses, “We should take this to the bedroom.” The water’s getting cold, but Angie’s shivers aren’t just because of that. Peggy nods and kisses her again. 

They clamber out in a soggy, tangled mess, in it for better or worse.


End file.
